


こいのよかん

by psychotraumatic



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Drabble, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychotraumatic/pseuds/psychotraumatic
Summary: There's no denying the inevitable.





	こいのよかん

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faultylines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultylines/gifts).



> I'm not entirely sure what this is. Maybe it's me trying to get rid of rust. Maybe it's a comeback. Maybe not. 
> 
> 100% sure of this though — Happy birthday, Pam!

_You and I will be great friends! Forever!_

He can't help but snicker under his breath when the memory creeps into his head. Who knew that a statement practically screamed into his ear on the first day of primary school would echo true 20 years down the road? He certainly didn't. If anything, he spent the majority of that time preventing it from happening, denying the inevitability of it. It never helped how everyone couldn't understand how their friendship worked, either. But no matter how hard he tried, regardless if nothing made much sense, he just couldn't get rid of the other.

And it's not like he hasn't tried.

Even as a young child, he carried himself with a sense of poise most kids won't even dare to have. While others preferred getting sweaty and dirty on the playground, he chose to stay under the cool shade with his head between the pages of a book. He much liked the quiet company of the written word over the noise everyone else made. He thinks it's how he perfected his steely gaze, in trying to keep people at arm's length. That part of his personality stayed relatively the same even as he grew older, but there's always that one person who knew just what buttons to push to get under his skin — to be let in.

If he gets quiet, trust the other to start screaming at the top of his lungs. He would flash a glare, only to get a smug _"made you look"_ in return. He only manages to stay annoyed for a minute.

He remembers sleepovers and midnight snacks and how, even if he's never been fond of sweets, he'll have a heaping pile of marshmallows in his hot chocolate because that's how the other makes it.

He reminisces how often they fought, how many times more they made up, how frequently they shook off the weird looks from people who just couldn't understand what was happening between them.

He thinks of that last summer night before they went off separate paths to pursue their dreams, about how long they lay on the grass staring at the vastness of the sky. He can still feel the warm breath against his cheek as the other spoke about how well he'll do for himself, that he'll be as bright as the shining stars. And regardless how softly he replied, it still rings loudly in his head — _you're my star._

He recalls walking home from work but having to stop by every playground and park to go down a slide. Because, according to the other, it's a crime to pass up the chance to be a little kid again.

He goes back to their moment of bickering over furniture, how he wanted to get a particular coffee table but somehow got convinced that the old beaten one will do. He later realizes the rightness of it all, as he lays down with his head on the other's lap who had his legs stretched out and feet propped up. Apparently, no one should get a table they couldn't put their feet on.

He remebers all their arguments, the ones that are his fault, the other's, both of theirs. He thinks of how he lets the stress of everything consume him, only for the other to flash him a smile and remind him of the little things he can be happy about instead of wanting too much of nothing.

The head on his chest shifts, pulling him from his train of thoughts. A yawn and a whine follow, though the other's eyes remain closed. Neither of them particularly like waking up early, but they always made it a habit to catch the sunrise at least once a year. He presses his lips against the top of the other's head at the exact same time he feels a kiss on his chest.

"Happy anniversary, Wonwoo," the other says sleepily. 

As the first rays of light peek through the clouds, he knows he won't trade this moment for anything in the world.

"Marry me, Kwon Soonyoung."

_Sometimes you meet someone and it's clear that the two of you, on some level, belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you're in love or you're partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don't know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something._


End file.
